The Waves of Irony
by Liar of Lesbos
Summary: The ocean had one hell of a sense of irony, being so still when Arthur was so tumultuous. /Revolutionary War, Arthur reflects, please read/


From the rickety wooden helm of one of Her Majesty's ships, Arthur could see nothing but the still ocean. Arthur had always suspected that the ocean had a sense of humor, and an ironic one. Moments lie the current one seemed to prove him correct, these moments when Arthur's feelings were tumultuous, the waves of his emotions crashing and crumpling against his heart, then retreating slowly, only to come surging back again. But the sea, which he had seen pound against a ship, knocking it around like it was no more than a child's toy, was as still as the sky above it. The one time he would have appreciated a storm and there was this… this quiet… this stationary positioning- He wanted the ocean itself to have a personification, just so he could beat it to a pulp.

And the sea wasn't the only bloody bastard he wanted to beat to a pulp. There was still _him_.

Arthur didn't even want to think about him. Every time he did, he saw the little boy he'd found roaming in the wild marshes of this New World. The boy was lost and alone, but not overly concerned about either thing, bright eyed, mangy haired, with that unbelievably tiny, frail hand in his own massive one-

And now, war. Tearing his brother apart one citizen at a time. Bright blonde hair dyed red, blue eyes darkened by shadows, forced to crumple tiny, frail hands until they never again reached for a far off freedom, until that bright eyed boy was submissive, subservient, a good little colony that served only as part of a whole- part of the British Empire.

Despite what Alfred thought, or what he yelled that he thought in his brash accusations and rantings of independence, Arthur knew the boy had seen violence. He was only too aware of the various, brutal battles with the savages, the Indians, and the war with that bloody frog, that bastard who managed to bring his war with Arthur to every corner of the globe, subjecting their siblings to the burning violence of Europe. Alfred's own push to expand didn't help, not as he reached further and further beyond where Arthur could protect him. And Arthur _had_ tried to stop his destructive expansionism peacefully, issuing a proclamation that called for him to stop moving beyond those large mountains of his, Appalachia or whatever he called it, but Alfred had only chafed under the rule, damning the consequences and continuing to push-push-push-

Then, when Arthur had had enough of his brother's irresponsibility and began showing him a little of the economic flu that he was coming down with from taking care of him, Alfred had exploded. Protests and rabble rousing and anger lead eventually to the Boston Tea Party, where crudely disguised Americans dumped gallons of his tea in to the ocean, making him even sicker then before- It pissed him off. He added more soldiers and closed down the hotbed of the revolution, Boston's, harbor until he had the money that they dumped with the tea back. After that, tension had just continued to build in his brother, and when he had been trying to dissuade the sway of the revolution by capturing arms and leaders, it started.

A single shot. One shot that would lead to two countries tearing at each other until the tattered remnants of their princely uniforms were falling off their sickened, starving bodies.

One shot that meant taking everything he loved about his little brother and trying with all of his might to crush it in to dust.

The sea had an ironic, nearly cruel sense of humor, but fate was the bitter, comical genius who was laughing without mercy at two brothers, now irrevocably separated by more than just water.

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><p>AN~<br>Hoped you liked my story, please comment if you can.  
>This is what comes out of American history and my Hetalia love... I hope I did the characters and the situation justice, because anything involving world powers is a complicated mess of affairs. In the Revolutionary War I can never help but feel bad for England, who had this protective love of rebellious America, and then got completely bitchslapped. I mean, poor dude, he was in his heyday, he had a fearsome navy and had colonized a good part of the world, but then he was taken down by a bunch of untrained, unorganized patriots. Had to be a serious blow to his ego and his heart.<br>I have a parallel to this, but it's pretty bad and needs a lot of revising. Also, I'm thinking about adding other Hetalia drabbles, short bits about sections of the world's history as it pertains to our lovely national avatars.


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